


bleak expectations

by fried_extracrispy_trenchcoat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fictional politics, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Minor Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), flatmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fried_extracrispy_trenchcoat/pseuds/fried_extracrispy_trenchcoat
Summary: "I've always assumed that Arthur would be on the same level of bigotry [as his father]," Will admits. “Forcing opinions where they’re not wanted.”“Arthur’s a prat, but it’s not the same as being a bigot.”Doubtfully, Will says, "That’s quite a big change from calling him a... clotpole? if I remember correctly. You and your words, Merlin, I can’t even."Merlin shrugs in acknowledgement of both statements and replies, echoing Gwaine’s words, "Arthur's only 30% of the arrogant ass he likes to pretend he is."
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2020





	bleak expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyvern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyvern/gifts).



> Many thanks to oddishly for the beta, advice, Britpicking, and brainstorming/idea-bouncing sessions!
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from the eponymous BBC Radio 4 comedy series (in which Anthony Head is a cast member).

Merlin hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance to receive a salary from the most vocal advocate of magic ~~eradication~~ regulation in the nation. But with the inside connections Lancelot and Uncle Gaius have, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that Merlin just couldn’t refuse. The offered salary is at least twice as much as a typical housekeeper’s wage, and his family could definitely use the money.

So here he is, gazing up at the building in which he’ll be living for the foreseeable future. Merlin must look like a right idiot, a first-time visitor to the metropolis and capital city of Camelot -- which, to be fair, he is. The contrast between here and rural Ealdor is dizzying. There’s so much to take in: the new sights, smells, noises -- plus the constant flurry of magical energy that had threatened to suffocate him when he’d first emerged from the bus, but that has since settled down into a manageable presence in Merlin’s radar.

Lancelot waits patiently until Merlin is done making a spectacle of himself. That’s one of the many things he likes about Lancelot; they’d clicked during their chance meeting two years ago in a way that it already feels like they’ve been friends forever.

When the lift opens on their floor, they begin to hear muffled thumps and an angry voice. The noises increase steadily in volume as they keep walking, and soon it’s evident that the source is also their destination.

"Arthur can't stand Gwaine. Or so he pretends," Lancelot informs Merlin as he unlocks the door. It opens to a spacious living room and its two male occupants; the one with shoulder-length brown hair appears to be riling up the younger blond and thoroughly enjoying his abundant success. Merlin has just made it through the threshold when the blond lobs a scatter cushion at the other man, who leaps out of the way, cackling.

"Children," Lancelot calls out. "Play nice."

"You're finally back," the blond man grumbles in obvious relief. "Don't leave me alone with him again."

Lancelot beckons Merlin forward. The other man acknowledges him with a friendly grin, but Lancelot addresses the grumpy blond instead. "Arthur, this is Merlin Emrys, your flat’s new housekeeper. Merlin, Arthur Pendragon."

"What kind of name is Merlin?" Arthur asks, looking him over.

"One that my parents gave me," Merlin replies flatly.

Lancelot visibly suppresses a smile. "You should hear what he said about _my_ name. And this is Gwaine. He fills in for me as Arthur's personal bodyguard on the rare occasions where I have to take temporary leave, such as today. The rest of the time, he's behind the scenes with the rest of the security team."

Gwaine says, "I hear you're also starting university."

"That's the plan, yeah."

Arthur sighs as if put-upon and announces at large, "I'll be in my room."

"Perfect segue. I'll show you to yours, let you get settled," Lancelot says.

Gwaine claps Merlin's shoulder as he passes him on the way out of the flat. "Arthur's only 30% of the arrogant ass he likes to pretend he is."

*****

After he had called his parents and Will to let them know of his safe arrival, Merlin unpacks his things. Then he wanders out into the living room and surveys the layout of the flat in order to get a sense of how the cleaning process would go. It looks pretty clean and orderly as it is, although Merlin can’t speak for Arthur’s room. He’s also itching to go back outside, but Arthur has yet to give him the keys to the flat. So instead, Merlin takes out his map of the city and looks up supermarkets in the area on his laptop.

When it’s late afternoon, Arthur emerges from his room, yawning and mussing up his hair. He’s wearing the same white shirt and loose trousers as earlier, and it creates an image of casual attractiveness. Merlin’s not sure how to proceed with the situation, so he closes the refrigerator door and stays where he is. After a few seconds, Arthur sees him in the kitchen, and then they’re just looking at each other in awkward silence.

Merlin hates awkward silences, so he goes ahead and blurts, “Hi. How should I address you?”

“‘Arthur’,” Arthur answers slowly. “I’m only two years older than you. And you don’t actually work for me. Or did you not read the contract?”

“Right.” Merlin feels his face get hot. “Can you tell me your food preferences so I know what to get?”

Arthur comes into the kitchen and taps the whiteboard on the hanging cabinet door adjacent to the fridge. “Usually this will be empty, but if I feel like making… pasta, for example, then I’ll write ‘ _tomato sauce_ ’ and the date I want it by. And I hate okra and artichokes -- by the way,” he adds, “I cook for myself. Just to let you know.”

“Alright, one sec.” Merlin gets the pad of paper and mechanical pencil he’d left on the dining table and jots some notes down. “Anything else?”

Arthur rattles off several other likes and dislikes. “Otherwise, you can get whatever you want and label the things you don’t want to share. Be right back.” Arthur leaves and comes back holding something. Two somethings, actually: a credit card and a set of keys, both of which he puts on the table. “The credit card’s for the food, and the keys are for the flat. Have you settled in yet?”

Arthur’s irritability from earlier is gone, Merlin realizes belatedly. Maybe he’d just caught him at a bad time. “Yes. This place is very nice.”

“It is,” Arthur says, looking pleased.

Merlin’s mum had made him dinner in a Tupperware container, so at mealtime, Merlin heats it up in the expensive-looking (who is he kidding, everything in this building is probably as expensive as it looks) microwave. Arthur peers over at it in interest, and Merlin takes that as an invitation to check out Arthur’s dinner. They sit together at the dining table but don’t talk much, although Arthur does ask Merlin about his family and what it's like in Ealdor.

As he’s doing his own washing up, Merlin makes a mental note to check for updates from his upcoming degree later. The front door opens and closes; he looks over his shoulder and sees Lancelot, who waves and turns to talk with Arthur. Merlin finishes up and wipes his hands on a towel, then exits the kitchen and catches Arthur’s eye.

“We’re going out,” Arthur tells him.

Merlin replies uncertainly, “Okay. Thanks for telling me?”

“You’re coming with us.”

That makes him start. “What. Why?”

“We’re going to the pub, and I need two body shields to ward off unwanted advances. Lancelot is only one.”

For some reason, the air between them feels comfortable enough that Merlin doesn’t restrain himself from muttering, “Bold of you to assume that girls would want to approach you in the first place.”

“I heard that,” Arthur says. “And you’re wasting time.”

Merlin _is_ eager to explore the city, so he slips his wallet, phone, and new set of keys into his pockets and joins Arthur and Lancelot at the front door.

It’s Merlin’s first time in a city bar. When Arthur finds out, he gets the three of them bar seats and makes Merlin try about a dozen different alcoholic drinks, the names of which he can’t possibly hope to remember. He makes a disgusted face at each one, and eventually Arthur is apparently offended enough at his lack of refined taste that he gives Merlin up as a lost cause and orders a glass of mead for himself.

Arthur doesn’t seem up for talking, so Lancelot chats with Merlin intermittently, but most of the bodyguard’s attention is permanently tuned into their surroundings. He would cut himself off in the middle of a sentence, alternating between scanning the room and talking quietly on his earpiece. After a few iterations of this, Merlin lets him do his job in peace, which leaves nothing else to do but observe the other patrons in the establishment.

Even that activity quickly gets boring, so he glances over at Arthur, who's idly drawing shapes in the condensation on his second glass. "What's this I remember you saying about unwanted advances?" Merlin asks in mock innocence.

Arthur grunts, "That means it's _working_ , Merlin. I knew your face would put them off."

Merlin laughs despite the insult. Or maybe because of it.

*****

Gwaine must have been talking about some other Arthur, because this one's an idiot. And by "idiot", Merlin doesn't mean the kind of idiot commonly associated with people who have an inflated sense of self-worth. No, Arthur's an idiot because he _doesn't need a housekeeper_.

At nine o’clock the next morning, Merlin does some light cleaning, including dusting the furniture and the floors in the common areas. Judging from the presence of the pair of hiking boots in the hall, Arthur is still in his bedroom, maybe even sleeping. So Merlin keeps the noise level down and finishes in less than an hour. Then he decides that now’s as good a time as any to go on his first food run.

But then.

When he comes back to the flat, Arthur is mopping.

“Don’t go over there,” he says, gesturing. “That side’s still wet.”

Merlin answers stupidly, “You’re mopping.”

Arthur replies dryly, “It appears so.”

“ _Why_ are you mopping?”

Arthur shrugs, as if that’s a good enough explanation for why he’s doing Merlin’s job.

As such, it quickly becomes obvious to Merlin that either Arthur doesn't trust him to handle certain housekeeping tasks (for whatever reason), or he doesn’t even want a housekeeper. Whatever the case, the way Arthur’s going about asserting himself is just strange. Besides, it’s not that Merlin loves doing house chores, but this obviously can’t go on forever. When he outright confronts the blond, Arthur looks at him blankly from where he’s crouched next to his own bed and says, "You're still being paid. I don't see the problem." He goes back to smoothing out a clean sheet across the mattress.

Merlin has to thoroughly process that bizarre statement before he can respond. "Yes, I’m getting paid -- to do my _job_. So let me do it."

Arthur rolls his eyes and continues tucking in the edges of the sheet, but stops when there's one side left and then walks off without comment.

The evening and next two days continue in this manner, with Arthur inviting Merlin on his social excursions and -- to a lesser extent since the first day -- doing Merlin’s job. For the former, Arthur always makes it sound like Merlin doesn't have a choice, but the one time Merlin says no, Arthur nods reasonably and backs off (which, selective much?). He never lets Merlin pay for anything, either, saying that he has too much money for his own good. And honestly, Merlin’s not going to protest too much about that.

Anyway, Arthur seems to be perfectly capable of independent living (bar security detail). On the other hand, while he can be an insufferable and strange prat, he’s surprisingly easy to share a flat with. Arthur’s actually nice, in his own way, once you realize that the longsuffering attitude is just a front (which, admittedly, is something that takes a while for Merlin to get his head around). He can only wonder about what might have happened to make Arthur act that way.

...

Maybe Gwaine does have a point.

When Merlin relates Arthur’s strange behaviour to Will via Skype on Tuesday night, his best friend looks amused and slightly concerned. "At least Pendragon doesn’t seem to hate you."

Merlin feels compelled to point out, "Every second sentence he says to me is an insult.”

Will raises his eyebrows. "As if you don't insult him right back. And he puts up with it, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, but..." Merlin frowns in contemplation. Just then, there's a knock on his door. “Hang on. It’s unlocked!” he says loudly.

Arthur pokes his head in. "Merlin, I’d like to have a word with you later if you have time."

“Alright,” Merlin says. He follows Arthur’s gaze to the smirking pixellated image of Will, whose hand is raised in a cheeky wave. Then he glances back at Arthur, who nods at Will and quietly shuts the door.

"That’s him, then?" Will asks. When Merlin nods, he asks, "Has Pendragon shared his opinions on magic with you?"

Merlin shakes his head. "He told me about Uther, but only as his father, not the politician."

"I've always assumed that Arthur would be on the same level of bigotry," Will admits. “Forcing opinions where they’re not wanted.”

“Arthur’s a prat, but it’s not the same as being a bigot.”

Doubtfully, Will says, "That’s quite a big change from calling him a... clotpole? if I remember correctly. You and your words, Merlin, I can’t even."

Merlin shrugs in acknowledgement of both statements and replies, echoing Gwaine’s words, "Arthur's only 30% of the arrogant ass he likes to pretend he is."

After ending the call, he gets up and stretches before leaving the room. He looks around and spots Arthur in the sitting room, lounging in an armchair and reading. Merlin moves closer and coughs to let him know he’s there.

Arthur puts his book down and proceeds to dither for a while, fidgeting with the string of his hoodie. "You'll be going back to Ealdor every second weekend." There's a question in there.

"Yes, it's in my contract."

"My sister Morgana is hosting a small gathering on Saturday evening. You're invited."

Merlin is surprised. "You told your sister about me?"

Arthur shrugs. "You’re my flatmate. Morgana wants to meet you."

“Well. I mean. Sure, why not?”

Arthur stares at him for a bit. “I suppose that’s settled, then.”

“Okay.” Merlin jerks a thumb behind him. “If that’s all, I’ll just… go back to my room.”

“You do that,” Arthur agrees.

*****

On his fourth morning in Camelot, Arthur brings Merlin -- and Lancelot, by extension -- on a tour of the city. It’s just as well, because Merlin has the suspicion that he may be somewhat directionally challenged. What should have been a straightforward trip to the supermarket by foot on Monday had resulted in him backtracking a few times and ultimately having to rely on his phone’s GPS to point him in the right direction (not to mention that his destination was only two blocks away from Arthur’s flat). But it’s just that he’s not used to such a large scale of human and magical activity, and it’s difficult to sift through all the distracting visual stimuli. Merlin’s really hoping this development is temporary, otherwise it would definitely be inconvenient in the future.

Arthur’s love for his city is evident in his enthusiastic gesticulations and endless anecdotes. Just as Merlin grew up in a small, rural village, it’s obvious that the metropolis of Camelot is home to all of Arthur’s childhood memories. There are a few instances when the three of them take public transportation to get to another part of the city. One time, the bus they’re in passes by a fortified wall, over which Merlin can make out an impressive-looking building complex. Arthur calls it the Citadel, which Merlin immediately understands to be the nation’s capitol. It’s where Uther’s proposals for anti-magic legislation are born and approved with little to no serious official opposition.

Merlin, Arthur, and Lancelot meander through the shopping district, window-shopping. At one point, they enter an ice cream parlour; Arthur smirks when Merlin’s eyes pop out at the selection of flavours.

They’re sitting at a small table, knees knocking against each other, when Arthur looks down at where a little girl is tugging on his jeans. She’s so short that Merlin had to lean around the table to see what had caught the blond's attention. Arthur says to her, “Hi. Where are your parents?”

The toddler points at a woman who’s standing in line and watching them, then holds out the handmade bracelet in her hand. “For you!” she says cheerfully.

Arthur looks at her mother for approval and then takes it. “Did you make it yourself?” His fist slips through easily, even with the string being made of elastic, which means that the bracelet must’ve been way too big for the girl to wear.

“Mummy helped me,” she says.

Said woman comes forward and takes her daughter’s hand, saying, “We’re almost at the front of the line, so say goodbye now.” The toddler twists her upper body around as she’s being led away and waves.

While Arthur is distracted with waving back, Merlin leans over and murmurs urgently into Lancelot’s ear, “I sense magic in the bracelet. Don’t let him keep wearing it.”

Arthur lowers his hand and raises his wrist to admire the new adornment. Lancelot stands up and says, “Let’s go. You two can finish eating while we’re walking.”

“Why?” Arthur asks in bemusement. “We just sat down.”

“I’ll tell you when we’re outside.”

They’re several shops down from the ice cream parlour when Lancelot finally turns to Arthur, saying, “Give the bracelet to me. It needs to go through a security check.”

The other man looks at him incredulously. “This was given to me by a _three-year-old_.”

“I don’t make the rules,” Lancelot replies, holding out his hand. Arthur reluctantly takes it off, looking disgruntled. He starts walking away, and Lancelot discreetly gives the bracelet to Merlin, who shoves it into his jacket pocket.

After some more touring and dinner, they return to Arthur’s flat. Once in his room, Merlin gets out his laptop and brings up a library of several dozen digitised books on magic. It doesn’t take too long to identify and cancel the spells that were put on the bracelet, but he continues onto a research spree. When he finally thinks to check the time, it’s late, so Merlin gets ready for bed and then crawls under the blankets. His mind is still on the (formerly) cursed bracelet, though, and he lies awake, staring at the ceiling.

There’s no way a toddler could have done it. But by proxy…

Thinking back, the mother had been acting suspicious. Merlin has a lot of questions about her motivation. Obviously, nobody would be suspicious of a toddler, but why would she feel the need to resort to such a measure in the first place?

*****

On a more concrete note, Merlin is starting his undergraduate degree at the University of Camelot in two weeks. Arthur’s going into his third and final year, so he’s going to take Merlin on a tour of the campus before Freshers’ Week begins next Tuesday.

It’s been established that Arthur is by no means an early riser, so at around eight-fifteen on Friday morning, Lancelot lets himself into the flat, comes into the kitchen, and takes a seat at the dining table across from Merlin.

“What did you find out about the bracelet?” the bodyguard asks quietly.

Merlin shifts his chair so that he can have a clear view of Arthur’s door. “It had a tracking spell and a late-acting minor curse, which would’ve given Arthur hives or something like that if he’d worn it long enough. I neutralised both of them as soon as I found out what they were, but you might want to increase surveillance on this building. The person or people behind this have likely figured out that this is where Arthur lives.”

Lancelot nods grimly. “Am I correct in guessing that not all people who have magic can detect it?”

“Not everyone is as sensitive to it as I am,” Merlin agrees. And it’s possible that there are others who are even more tuned in to magic than him.

“That’s not good,” Lancelot says, eyebrows furrowing. “If we can’t detect or identify magic, how can we protect Arthur _from_ magic?”

Merlin ventures, “This is a new development, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lancelot admits. “There has been growing unrest lately. We think it has to do with Uther’s latest speech.”

Their conversation is put on hold by Arthur’s sleep-rumpled appearance. The blond makes himself a quick breakfast, announces his intention of taking a shower, and disappears back into his room. Lancelot drums his fingers on the table, deep in thought and muttering to himself. Eventually, the sound of the running shower ceases. Merlin zips up his jacket. “Is something else the matter?”

Lancelot stops frowning at nothing. “What? No, it’s nothing.”

A few minutes passes, and Arthur has yet to announce his presence. Merlin hedges. “As a bodyguard, you need to be 100% in the moment at all times, right?”

“Except when I’m absolutely sure Arthur’s not in danger.” Lancelot sighs and slouches a little. “I get what you’re saying. Or not saying, as it were. But it’s probably nothing. It’s not related to the job, anyhow.”

“Is it a person or a thing?”

“My girlfriend Gwen. She’s also Arthur and Morgana’s friend, so you’ll meet her tomorrow evening. I just feel like something’s up with her. She hasn’t replied to my text messages since...” He pauses to think. “Tuesday night. It’s not like her at all. And we haven’t had our nightly video call since then, either.”

"What is she like?" Merlin asks, partly out of curiosity.

At that, Lancelot brightens. "Where do I even begin? Gwen is patient and selfless. A bit shy at times, and somewhat reserved, but she'll always stand up against injustice. It's an honour to be her boyfriend. Actually," and he blushes, "I'm planning to propose soon."

"She sounds like an amazing person," Merlin says honestly. He's looking forward to meeting Gwen and Morgana.

*****

To be completely frank, Merlin's first impression of Gwen is none of those things. In fact, he'd describe her with adjectives that are the exact opposite of the ones that Lancelot used.

The image of Morgana's worried expression is etched into Merlin's memory by the time he and Arthur take their leave. She is Gwen's closest friend, so it's clear that Gwen's behaviour is definitely abnormal.

"This isn't what she's usually like," Arthur confirms in a low tone. "I've never seen Gwen like this. Never. It's like she has an evil twin or something."

Since Morgana's flat is the same as Arthur's in terms of security, Lancelot gets to relax most of his duties while within the resident security team's domain. He's already waiting to meet Arthur and Merlin when they exit the lift on the ground floor. Lancelot sees their expressions and demands, "What is it?"

"I'll tell you when we get home," Arthur says.

The drive back to Arthur's flat is silent. With every passing moment, Merlin's suspicion that this is the work of magic grows.

The moment the front door closes behind the three of them, Arthur bursts out, "Gwen has an evil twin. That's the only explanation I have."

"Should I go?" Merlin asks quickly, gesturing towards his room.

"Stay," Lancelot answers, just as quickly. "What happened?"

"She wasn't acting like herself at all. And it looks like she hasn't slept or eaten for days -- I could hear her stomach growling but Gwen said she wasn’t hungry." Arthur's voice is shaky.

“Let’s go sit down,” Lancelot says, giving Merlin a meaningful look.

Arthur sinks down into an armchair, continuing, “I don’t know what else there is to say. Gwen’s a totally different person.”

Merlin listens to Arthur and Lancelot make fruitless conjectures, and then stays up past midnight researching. The next morning, he’s roused from a fitful sleep by an incessant ringing. It's an incoming call from an unknown number. He lets it ring out.

Almost immediately, his phone begins ringing again. It’s the same number. He reluctantly accepts the call.

"Merlin, it's Gwaine. Come next door _right now_."

A minute later, Merlin is standing in front of a door labeled "Maintenance", still blinking sleep from his eyes. It's the only other door on this floor, and nobody else is in the hallway, but he still feels foolish. But when Merlin reaches through the door with his magic feelers on a whim, he immediately detects a high concentration of electrical activity that feels similar to the energy that his own laptop emits.

Merlin knocks. Almost immediately, Gwaine opens the door, looking frantic. He ushers Merlin into a room that is definitely bigger than a typical maintenance closet; the first impression he has is that it resembles the typical security room seen in procedural TV shows. Which is most likely what this room is, considering Gwaine’s job.

"Did Arthur tell you where he was going this morning?” Gwaine demands, beginning to pace.

Merlin shakes his head, saying, "I was sleeping when you called me. Shouldn't you know?"

“I should,” Gwaine agrees. “Lancelot said they were going to meet up with Gwen and Morgana at a park. He and Arthur got there, but after that, we -- Arthur’s security team -- couldn’t reach either of them. My coworkers went out one by one to look for them, and the same thing happened, like some sort of technological black hole. Also Morgana’s team and my contacts at the Citadel. There’s definitely something serious going on; very likely it’s an attack on the Pendragons.”

Merlin is wide awake now. “What about the police?”

“This sort of thing isn’t under their jurisdiction, which is Uther’s own fault. Besides, the Pendragons’ security detail is supposed to be capable of dealing with this sort of thing,” Gwaine says. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, but there’s no way I’ll be able to tackle this on my own.”

Merlin says nervously, “I’ve only been here for a week. I probably won’t be of any help.”

“About that. Yesterday, Lancelot left a sealed note here for us to open in case of emergency. Your name is written inside.” Gwaine looks at Merlin shrewdly. “If you’ve got some sort of skill or ability that can help us, now would be a good time to share.”

Merlin thinks he ought to say it. He’d made the decision as Gwaine was speaking, but the words won’t come out. Gwaine seems to take pity on him and says, “If it helps, I emigrated from Caerleon when I was fifteen. The culture there is very different: much more tolerant in some ways, although crueler in others. Whatever you have to say, I won’t judge you. Or at least I’ll try not to.”

Merlin breathes out shakily, then forces the words out. “I have magic. I was born with it.”

Gwaine processes the confession, then nods. “Alright. You can rest assured I’ll keep it a secret. Lancelot knows though, right?”

“Yes. Nobody else here does, though.” Merlin tells Gwaine about the bracelet.

“Interesting,” Gwaine says slowly. “How powerful would you say your magic is?”

Merlin thinks. “I’ve only ever compared it to my dad’s, but he says I have a lot more potential than he did at my age.”

“Okay. Well, all we have to work with is Arthur and Lancelot’s last known location, which is nowhere near the park. We should start by going there.” Gwaine indicates Merlin’s pyjamas. “But first, you might want to go change.”

They go back to Arthur’s flat. Merlin is zipping up his jeans when he hears Gwaine swear from the living room. He pulls on a shirt as quickly as he dares to without risking getting tangled up in the material (as he knows he would), then snags his jacket and dashes out, only slipping a little in his socks on the hardwood floor. Gwaine is briskly moving from window to window, locking the latches and closing the blinds.

“There are people watching us from across the street,” he throws over his shoulder as his fingers fumble with the tilt gear wand of the window he’s currently at. Merlin makes a peephole in one of the already-closed blinds and looks for their stalkers. He immediately locates three people lounging casually against the opposite building.

“We’ll have to sneak out,” Merlin murmurs, half to himself. Then he asks, “Does the security team stock any self-defense weapons?”

*****

Gwaine tells him that Arthur and Morgana are both proficient at Brazilian jiu-jitsu. It makes sense, seeing how easily bodyguards can be incapacitated if one has the mind to attempt it (no offense, Lancelot and Gwaine). Still, Gwaine gets a backpack and they stuff their persons with several tasers each; a few other miscellaneous emergency supplies go in the backpack. Merlin had been thinking along the lines of pepper spray when he’d asked about weapons for self-defense, but then Gwaine pointed out that liquid sloshes around when being transported, and they’re supposed to be going about this stealthily, right?

Also, Merlin sets his phone to silent because not doing so is just asking for trouble. It’s a plot device that he does _not_ wish to be used in this rescue attempt.

They climb the stairs and exit through the fire escape exit onto the middle of the rooftop, half-expecting more stalkers up here but finding none. Gwaine surveys the area. “We’ll need to break into a building to get down to ground level,” is his assessment. “Obviously, the farther away from here, the better.”

The rooftops are connected; Gwaine seems rather disappointed at the lack of opportunity to do parkour. When they reach the end of the line of rooftops, he peers over the edge. “I don’t know if we can sneak past them. Can you create some kind of diversion?”

Merlin’s already thinking hard. “I can make them not notice us. As in, they’ll technically see us -- we won’t actually be invisible or anything -- but they won’t _see_ us, if you get what I mean.”

Gwaine seems to understand perfectly well. “Intonation is very helpful for when vocabulary fails you,” he comments, grinning. “Right, so the fastest way to get there is via the underground. The nearest station’s at the end of that block. Er --” He looks a bit sheepish. “Do you have any money with you?”

“Actually,” Merlin says, having a thought that his mum would be extremely disappointed at him for thinking. But he didn’t bring any money with him either, so he forges on. “If the station attendants don’t _see_ us…”

“Merlin!” Gwaine cries in mock scandalization. “I never pegged you for a delinquent!”

Merlin shrugs. “Desperate times, et cetera. I’m going to cast the perception spell here. It works best when you’re trying to hide in plain sight, so to speak. If you try to get people’s attention on purpose -- and by that I mean going to extreme measures, like poking them or yelling loudly -- that’ll just defeat the purpose of the spell, and it’ll probably fizzle out. Keep close to me and try not to bump into people.”

Gwaine nods impatiently, bouncing a little in restless anticipation. Seeing this, Merlin suddenly realizes the reason behind the full-body tension he himself is experiencing. He laughs, and it comes out sounding somewhat hysterical. “Sorry,” Merlin says, even as he’s trying to stop giggling. “Nerves, you know. Alright, here we go.”

Merlin closes his eyes and focuses. He never done this with two people, and only for practice, but he knows the first is possible. It takes a bit of finicking and coaxing, but finally, his magic settles in place around the two of them. Gwaine stares in awe at Merlin’s eyes when they open, and marvels at the fact that nothing seems to have changed in terms of appearances. But to his credit, he gets over it pretty quickly and proceeds to approach the rooftop door, Merlin at his heels. It’ll be more difficult to maintain the spell the more distance there is between them.

Once they’re on ground level and outside, they make their way to the underground station entrance and descend the stairs to the concourse. Then they stand there and look at the ticket barrier. Well, Merlin stands there and looks at the ticket barrier; Gwaine strolls right up to the help desk and makes a rude hand gesture at the attendant. When the woman doesn’t react, he mouths at Merlin triumphantly, _it works!_

Well, Merlin thinks, it’s entirely possible that she’s daydreaming to escape the tedium of her job. But Gwaine proceeds to do the same to several other people, and when he doesn’t get punched even once, Merlin supposes that there’s no substantial reason to worry about getting caught.

So they climb over the ticket barrier, and Gwaine directs them to a platform. It’s nine-thirty and there is nobody else there waiting, but Gwaine also tells Merlin that there are security cameras everywhere, which is why Merlin keeps the spell active just in case.

*****

Gwaine’s fear that Arthur and/or Lancelot may have been moved elsewhere during this break in communication appears to be unfounded, as there are two people blatantly flanking the front doors to a brick-and-mortar building. Even the GPS system Arthur’s security team uses can’t pinpoint an exact location, so Gwaine and Merlin had expected to have to do some poking around when they got here. However, the mere presence of these guards scream _THERE’S SOMETHING SUSPICIOUS HAPPENING IN THIS BUILDING!_

“I can’t believe this,” Gwaine says incredulously when they’re close enough to see their faces. “Bedivere? _And_ Kay? Those are two of my colleagues that I lost contact with. And why’re they wearing scarves? It’s been warm all week!”

They stop within striking distance, and Merlin looks around to see that the coast is clear. Then his eyes flash gold; as one of the men crumples, Gwaine takes the initiative and launches himself at the other guard, quickly knocking him unconscious.

Then Gwaine crouches down to unwrap the scarf around the second guard’s neck. The man is facedown, and when Gwaine shifts over and begins tying his wrists together behind his back, Merlin sees a dark streak on the nape of the guard’s neck. He gets down onto his knees to get a closer look, and as he does, the streak _moves_. It wriggles a little, like a worm or perhaps a snake, and instantly Merlin knows what it must be, improbable as it is. He takes off the other man’s scarf and checks his neck.

“Someone’s controlling their minds,” Merlin says, outraged. “They’re literally not themselves right now. See this? It’s a creature of dark magic called a fomorroh. We’ll need to find the mother beast and destroy it in order to free them.”

“I’m going to guess that there are other people in that building who are in the same condition?”

“It’s definitely a possibility.” Something dawns on him, then. “Gwen!” he practically shouts. “She’s _literally not herself_. It makes sense!”

Gwaine agrees, “I did hear that she was acting very, very strangely. Was she wearing a scarf, by any chance?”

Merlin answers slowly, “Yes... why?”

“These two were too,” Gwaine says, gesturing at the guards on the ground and raising his eyebrows in implication.

“That would make it easier to figure out who’s being mind-controlled,” Merlin allows, although it seems too clean-cut to be true.

Gwaine adds, “Either that or it’s love bites they’re hiding.” He snickers when Merlin flushes.

They drag the unconscious men next door into a cleaner’s closet and stuff their mouths with the cleanest-looking rags they can find, then go back outside and into their destination building. They sneak past bare-necked people interspersed with a scarfed one here and there, discreetly checking rooms and doors as they go.

Eventually, they come across a room with a helpfully euphemistic, handwritten sign on the door that reads “Guests”. Nobody’s guarding this room, which is even more helpful. Maybe they thought it wasn’t necessary, who knows.

The only people in the small room are Arthur and Lancelot. Their arms are behind their backs, and both of them already seem tired even though it’s only around ten in the morning, but otherwise, they don’t seem to be sporting any obvious injuries. They tense in their seats when the door opens and look confused when it closes.

“What,” Arthur says.

Merlin unlocks their handcuffs via magic and drops the perception spell. “Hi, you two.”

Arthur startles violently, eyes growing comically wide. Lancelot is surprised, too, but hides it better, removing his wrists from the handcuffs and helping Arthur do the same.

“We’re here to save you,” Merlin says, mostly looking at Arthur to gauge his reaction, since he’s the only one here that doesn’t know Merlin’s a sorcerer.

Lancelot eyes Arthur cautiously as he asks, “Who’s ‘we’?”

Gwaine gestures at Merlin and himself. “The rest of the team went out to look for you two, but I lost connection with them. Couldn’t reach Leon or anybody in the Citadel, either. So here we are, your knights in shining armour.”

“Wait a minute,” Arthur interrupts, looking at Lancelot. “You knew about this? You knew Merlin has magic? Does _Gwaine_ \--”

“Only me,” Merlin quickly cuts in.

“And none of you _told_ me?”

The room is silent for a little while. When Arthur’s bodyguards don’t say anything, Merlin says quietly, “Gwaine only found out this morning. And Lancelot was just trying to protect me.”

“It’s Merlin’s secret to tell,” Lancelot adds gently.

Arthur looks furious and hurt for all of ten seconds before he abruptly deflates. “It’s because of my father, isn’t it.” Nobody denies it. He sighs heavily. “Look. He’s fair and just when dealing with most other policy areas, I think we can all agree on that, but I definitely don’t agree with his stance on magic. Merlin, I’m sorry that you and other magic-users have had to suffer because of my father’s prejudice. We can all talk more about it later… if there even is a later.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Anyway. So Gwaine, you know that Gwen called Morgana and me to Lyon Park, where we got stuffed into a van and brought here. Morgana was in this room with us earlier, but right now she’s probably in this building somewhere being interrogated, and Gwen --” He cuts himself off, grimacing.

Gwaine offers, “Merlin’s pretty sure Gwen’s mind is being controlled via some magical snake parasite. So are Kay and Bedivere.”

“And there could be others,” Merlin adds. “We’ll have to find and destroy the mother beast in order to free the victims.”

Surprisingly, Arthur says, “Well, I’m trusting you on this, Merlin. What?” he asks, frowning at Merlin’s expression. “You’re already going above and beyond your professional duty, plus at least _you_ have some idea about what’s happening with Gwen.”

Merlin gapes at him. “Arthur, you… you utter dollophead! I don’t even know how to start explaining how ridiculous that statement is.”

Arthur stares back. “... you called me ‘dollophead’. What the hell’s a dollophead?”

Merlin ignores him and huffs indignantly. “I thought you kept dragging me places because you wanted us to become friends!”

“I didn’t _drag_ …” Arthur mutters, trailing off. It may be Merlin’s imagination, but pink spots seem to be appearing on his cheeks.

It’s probably a good thing for everyone involved that Lancelot interrupts to redirect them back to the main objective.

*****

Later, Merlin would remember the action part of it mostly as an adrenaline-filled blur, but the one clear thought that is preserved from the memory is that _they make a damn good team_.

The whole lot of them traverse the corridors as a group. When Merlin and Gwaine had been sneaking in, they’d noticed that people were clumped in small, spaced-out groups throughout the building. Now Merlin, under the perception spell, scouts ahead and then creates a diversion with harmless fireworks, and then when the others launch into the fray, helps out by stunning a person here and there.

The process is going disturbingly well, largely because Merlin and the others have the upper hand. They’ve created a trail of unconscious bodies in their wake by the time a loud voice demands, “What is this _racket_?”

A blonde woman stalks around a corner behind Merlin, looking murderous, and stops dead. She quickly takes in the situation, then her eyes flash and everyone goes flying. Merlin didn’t expect himself to be included, but maybe it was an area-of-effect thing. In any case, he must’ve accidentally ended the spell when the woman surprised him with her sudden entrance, because what seems like only a split-second passes since he hit the ground before a vice-like grip is pulling Merlin up by the arm and dragging him away.

Head spinning and throbbing, Merlin struggles weakly as he tries to regain his senses. His shoulder smacks painfully into a doorframe as the woman makes a turn into a small room. They’re in the middle of it when the door closes and _snicks_ locked by itself.

“Sister, I found this boy with a group of assassins who would have your head,” the woman holding Merlin captive says. Morgana is sitting in a chair across from them, white-knuckled fingers clutching her knees. She’s staring at Merlin in shocked recognition.

Merlin’s body aches all over, but he manages to stay standing. He has a feeling he’s missing something here that he ought to figure out first before making an escape plan for the two of them. Then he tunes in to the woman’s voice, going on about betrayal and family and justice and --

“You won’t have to hide who you are anymore,” the woman declares. “We will bring a new era to Camelot.”

Morgana speaks up for the first time. “You’re wrong about my brother. You don’t know anything about Arthur. And you don’t know anything about me.”

There’s clamoring outside down the hall, a cacophony of pounding and yelling of Merlin’s and Morgana’s names. Arthur’s bellows are the loudest of them all.

“Didn’t I say Arthur is among the assassins? They’ve brainwashed you,” the woman says sadly. “I’ll just have to teach them not to --”

“Alright, lady,” Merlin interrupts, using the element of surprise to yank his arm away. He backs up about ten steps. “First off, you sound like a badly written villain. Secondly, we’re not assassins, those people are just unconscious. We’re here to _save_ Morgana from _you_.”

“Would you be willing to ‘save’ her, as you say, if you knew she has magic?” the woman sneers, ignoring the first part of what he said.

Merlin’s breath catches in surprise. Morgana has magic? He shrugs in feigned nonchalance. “Well, yeah. Magic isn’t inherently bad, unlike what Uther would have everyone believe.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re telling me that Arthur Pendragon does not share his dear father’s beliefs.”

“Arthur can think for himself, he’s a big boy,” Merlin says, getting irritated. “Look, I agree that Uther’s policies on magic are totally unjustified, but using dark magic to control minds and holding his son and daughter hostage isn’t going to get you into Uther’s good books.”

“So was doing nothing for twenty years,” the woman snaps back. “You don’t know what it’s like, you don’t have magic.”

Merlin says, “Who says I don’t have magic?” And the woman’s entire outfit inverts its colors.

Morgana gasps. The woman looks down and jumps. She makes a batting motion at her blouse a few times before evidently realizing that it’s not going to change anything. “Change it back!” she yelps, glaring at Merlin helplessly.

“Fix it yourself,” Merlin tells her, feeling quite smug and vindicated and not sorry for her at all.

“I-- How did you _do_ that?” The woman looks awed and a bit fearful.

“What can I say? I’m a natural.”

Then someone kicks the door in and shouts, “Merlin, get down!”

He drops to the floor. There’s a harsh _bzzzzzt_ sound that lasts for a few seconds, and then a thump. Still in a crouch, or more like a sprawl really, Merlin looks around and sees Arthur in the doorway with a taser and the blonde woman convulsing on the floor. Arthur helps him stand back up and grips him by the biceps. The warmth from his large hands bleeds through Merlin’s thin jacket. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” Merlin says, even though he’s still kind of sore. Arthur gently squeezes and lets go, telling Lancelot and Gwaine (who are behind him) to deal with the woman while going over to Morgana and hugging her tightly. Left alone, Merlin’s gaze wanders around the room. There are several cabinets with what seems to be miscellaneous objects displayed inside, but one item -- a sealed jar -- stands out because of something that’s moving inside. He walks over and puts his face close to the glass. Is that...?

"Merlin, what are you doing?"

He doesn't look at Arthur because he's busy squinting at the writhing black mass in the jar. The only reason it's not illegal to have a fomorroh in one's possession is that the knowledge of how to conjure them had supposedly been lost to the passage of time. His dad had told him about these serpentine creatures on a whim, not knowing that the random tidbit of information would come in handy one day.

Merlin straightens up and looks at Morgana, who is standing next to Arthur. “Does…” He glances between the two Pendragons, not knowing if Arthur knows about her magic.

“I know the both of you have magic, if that’s what you mean,” Arthur says.

“Oh. Morgana, that woman called you ‘sister’.” Merlin looks at Morgana questioningly.

Morgana’s lip curls. “If you want to be technical, Arthur’s actually my half-brother. We share the same father. Morgause and I are also half-siblings, we have the same mother. My mother’s side of the family has been in exile for about twenty years, and I’ve only seen them a few times in my life. I suppose that’s where I inherited my magic… genes?… from.”

“And is Morgause one of the leaders behind this hostage situation? Did she tell you what exactly they want from Uther? I’m just trying to get all the details here.”

Morgana says, “She’s _the_ leader. From what Morgause told me, the group she assembled is working on behalf of the magical community to force Uther to change his policies on magic. I don’t know how much support she really has, though.”

“We should interrogate her. But first…” Merlin magically unlocks the cabinet and brings out the sealed glass jar, which is emitting muffled hissing noises. “Let me see if it’s what I think it is.” He unscrews and removes the lid. As he lifts it from the jar, what appear to be multiple snakes uncoil from the depths and poke their heads out.

Arthur says, “Those are the evil snake parasites, right?”

“This is a fomorroh. Singular. If you sever one of its heads, it just grows another one,” Merlin says. He tells Lancelot and Gwaine, who are guarding their surroundings and keeping an eye on Morgause, that the mother beast has been found. Then Merlin explains to Morgana what he’d told the others. When she hears about what the fomorroh did to Gwen, her lips purse in barely-suppressed anger.

“How do we kill it?”

"The mother beast is both conjured and destroyed by fire. Once she dies, all of the snake heads that were in people’s necks will die, and they’ll be themselves again."

"I see. Let me," Morgana says, stepping closer. She hesitates, glancing at Arthur, then tells Merlin, "Gaius has been helping me control my magic, ever since I almost burned down my bedroom on accident."

Arthur says loudly, "You _what_?"

"Calm down, that was in July." Morgana ignores Arthur's wounded glare and extends her hand. Merlin takes in her determined, steely expression and hands the jar over silently.

Arthur says, "Wait." Morgana's eyes narrow, but he continues, "The smoke detector."

Merlin tilts his face upwards and locates the device on the ceiling. The smoke detector starts chirping but cuts off in the middle of its third iteration. “Okay, it’s been temporarily desensitized.”

"I've been missing out," Morgana mutters as she sets the jar down on the nearest hard surface. She closes her eyes; one, two beats pass before the fomorroh bursts into flames. Morgana's eyelids open, revealing golden irises that shine for a few seconds before fading to their usual green. She grins in exhilaration at her success.

They watch the fomorroh burn to ashes. Then Morgana concentrates again and extinguishes the fire. She, Merlin, and Arthur waft the air to facilitate the dispersion of combustion particles.

Then the three of them look over at Morgause, stirring on the floor.

*****

It turns out that Uther and his siblings-in-law had a falling out over his wife’s death in childbirth, twenty-one years ago. Igraine’s siblings -- and there are two that are still alive: Morgause and Agravaine de Bois -- harbor the most resentment for Uther, but apparently they don’t like Arthur either. The reason for that is ostensibly the archaic one, where Arthur killed his mother by having the audacity to be born.

For someone who’s willing to do things like enslave people’s minds (and, apparently, use civilian lives as leverage against Uther) in order to further a cause, it doesn’t take much to convince Morgause to relinquish her existing method of getting Uther to change his policies on magic. More specifically, she agrees to ally herself with Morgana and Arthur and attempt to resolve the issue of magic discrimination through civil discussion, although Morgause makes it clear that she will never forgive Uther for turning on the magical community.

At the Citadel, Merlin and the others burst into Uther’s executive office to see him sitting in his high-backed chair, looking utterly defeated and world-weary. Two hulking men are looming behind him, and another man at Uther’s side (Agravaine, according to Morgause’s descriptions) is in the process of smugly reaching for the contract sitting on the desk.

Before he can even touch it, the contract quickly rips itself into many tiny pieces and then flings itself into the air like confetti. Arthur’s uncle stumbles back in shock; Uther actually looks relieved despite the blatant display of magic. Morgause rolls her eyes at Merlin and marches into the room.

Merlin has minimal knowledge of how politics work, but he hangs around while chaos ensues. Morgause updates Agravaine on the new plan, while at the same time, Uther tries to understand what exactly is going on -- it’s all confusion and noise, is what it is. Three hours pass before a truce agreement is finally drafted, and two more drag by before Uther (very reluctantly) signs the final version.

Merlin eats his first meal of the day at four in the afternoon, sitting on one of the folding chairs set up in the hallway outside Uther’s office. Lancelot had ordered takeout for everyone who is still hanging around, and next to Merlin, Arthur is inhaling his soup like his life depends on it. Morgana is having a phone conversation with Gwen, who’d been discharged from the hospital after her operation and is resting at home. None of the victims to the fomorroh remember anything about what had happened while Morgause had been controlling their minds; Arthur tells him that it’s going to be difficult coming up with a plausible explanation for the police, who Gwaine had called to put Morgause’s followers in custody before arranging for travel to the Citadel.

It’s almost eleven by the time Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot leave the building complex. Everyone is still very unsure about whether the de Bois siblings and Uther will honour their sides of the truce, but apparently Morgana has leverage with both parties. Policy negotiations start tomorrow, and in the meantime, nothing else can be done but go home and have an uneasy night’s rest.

Late in the afternoon, Kay and Bedivere had been sent to a specialist to surgically remove their fomorroh heads so that they could quickly return to Arthur’s flat and resume security operations in preparation for his return. Now Arthur and Merlin enter the flat, and as they take off their shoes, Arthur says, “I’m having a drink. You can join me if you want.”

Merlin agrees without hesitation. Even though he’s physically exhausted from the day’s events, he’d also probably not be able to fall asleep due to worrying about whether the shaky truce will hold up overnight. So he joins Arthur at the dining table and accepts a glass of some sort of alcohol.

“Merlin.” Arthur waits until he looks over before continuing earnestly, “I want you to know that I’m extremely grateful for the loyalty you’ve shown today to people you barely know.”

“It’s really nothing,” Merlin says.

Arthur shakes his head vehemently. “For all you knew, Morgana and I are just as against magic as our father is. I don’t understand why you still decided to go with Gwaine to rescue us.”

“Honestly? I’ve been asking myself that question. I think part of it’s straight-up intuition. I dunno, you and Morgana just seem more open-minded. And the two of you didn’t have the experience that led to your father’s personal grudge against all things magic.”

“Still. That’s a big risk you took.”

Merlin retorts, “Well, I’m glad I did.”

Arthur says softly, “Me too.”

*****

It’s been two months since then.

Things seem to be looking up lately. The frequency of shouting matches during negotiations has been whittled down to once a week. Merlin has been keeping up with assignments and getting to know the people on his course. He’s also become friends with Morgana and Gwen, and the curly-haired postgraduate student (sans fomorroh) is exactly as Lancelot had described her.

Right before the beginning of the academic year, Morgana had a private conversation with Merlin. She confessed to having an ongoing inner turmoil: she felt guilty for allying herself with Morgause when the latter had done the unforgivable to Gwen, but on the other hand, Morgana had had the gut feeling that it’s too rare of an opportunity to pass up. She asked Merlin his honest opinion, and even though it’s probably because he’s the only sorcerer she knows, Merlin was greatly touched by the implied trust. He told her that it’s a totally understandable dilemma and that the fact that she’s feeling torn about it at all speaks volumes about the person and friend that she is.

This afternoon, Morgana came over to Arthur’s flat to visit Merlin. Arthur himself is on campus doing research for his dissertation. Merlin’s been seeing him increasingly stressed over the weeks, and he asked Morgana once how he can help mitigate Arthur’s stress. She’d gotten a gleam in her eye that greatly unnerved Merlin. At her advice, he presented Arthur with a slice of homemade New York-style cheesecake with raspberry sauce, and consequently felt a strong urge to shield his eyes in order to protect his retinas from the radiance of Arthur’s beam. On an entirely unrelated note, Merlin has been making a lot of homemade desserts recently.

"Is it true that dragons can travel to space if they have the mind to?" Morgana asks, nursing a cup of tea. She’s been asking Merlin a lot of questions about magic, even after he’d sent her the digital library of texts he has on the subject. That’s not to say that Merlin minds; conversely, it’s nice being able to discuss it with another magic-user.

Merlin shrugs. "They're very powerful and mysterious creatures. But the question here should probably be _why_ dragons would want to go to space.”

Morgana makes a thoughtful noise. They sit in comfortable silence for a bit. And then she sits up primly and says, “I don’t know if you know this, but Arthur has a bit of a tragic dating history.”

“Um,” Merlin replies, not knowing what to make of this abrupt change in topic.

“After dating five girls who were only in it because of his last name, Arthur doesn’t trust his own intuition when it comes to having a crush. And I know this for a fact, because ever since you arrived in Camelot, he’s been waxing poetic about you while simultaneously insisting that your good qualities are proof that you’re a true friend. That’s all well and good, but some of his justifications are just ridiculous. There’s no way that a person’s ears demonstrate their loyalty, or brand of humour or what have you. So for his sake, and as his big sister, it’s my duty to interrogate you on your intentions toward Arthur.”

Merlin flounders. “I… er… I wasn’t planning on intending anything...?”

Morgana facepalms. “ _Both_ of you are impossible. Well, Arthur’s not going to make the first move, I know that much, so you better do something soon. One can only endure so many ‘Odes to Merlin’ -- which is absolutely ironic, since he claims to hate poetry. And while we’re at it...” She leans forward and pins Merlin with a hawk-like gaze. “If you break Arthur’s heart, you can bet that I’ll break your will to live.”

Merlin swallows, throat suddenly dry. “Sounds reasonable.”

She leaves soon after that, leaving Merlin to wonder how Morgana had figured out his crush on Arthur before him.

Arthur comes home at sunset, fine blond hair windswept and his whole profile utterly breathtaking (as always). He’s smiling from ear to ear, face rosy from the winter chill, and thrusts a lumpy package into Merlin’s arms. “Go on, open it,” Arthur says impatiently when he doesn’t do anything but stare down at it.

So Merlin tears open the store-branded wrapping. Inside is a fleece winter coat. It’s unbelievably soft to the touch, and he holds it out in front of him as he admires the quality of the design and material. “You bought this for me?” he asks.

Arthur’s smile drops. “It’s the middle of November, but you’re still wearing that same jacket,” he says stiffly.

Merlin laugh-snorts. “You sound like Uther that time when he realized that he actually agreed with Agravaine’s suggestion.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur responds, which means he couldn’t think of a witty comeback. “Put it on, I want to see if it fits you.”

The coat’s a bit too big, too wide in the shoulders, but Merlin likes having too-long sleeves because they keep his hands warm. He slowly turns around with both arms held out to his sides; when he’s made a full circle, he grins at Arthur. “Like what you see?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, but he also hasn’t looked away. Merlin belatedly realizes what his question sounds like, and his face turns hot. He quickly continues, “Of course you do, you wouldn’t have picked _this_ coat otherwise. By the way, I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur mutters.

 _Gwaine overestimated his calculations_ , Merlin muses to himself. He looks at Arthur, awkward and adorable, still standing there in his hiking boots, and has the overwhelming desire to hug him.

So Merlin does. He squeezes tighter when Arthur attempts to imitate a statue. “You’re supposed to hug back.”

A long-suffering sigh huffs against his right ear, and reluctant arms rise to reciprocate the hug. Merlin feels warm and comfortable, and he can’t tell if it’s because of the coat or Arthur’s embrace. Or is it both?

When they finally separate, Merlin informs him cheerfully, “Expect more of this in the future -- _much_ more.”

“No,” Arthur says, scowling.

A rush of fondness fills Merlin. Suddenly emboldened, he wraps an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, cradles his jaw with the other hand, and closes the remaining distance between their faces.

“What about now?” Merlin asks breathlessly when he pulls away. He watches as Arthur blinks back at him, response time slow.

“Wha?”

“What do you say to accepting more hugs from me in the future? Not that your answer actually matters, because it’s actually a rhetorical --”

Arthur shuts him up.


End file.
